what kills me to think about is that (i believe) this is the one time that i will ever live. and i’m wasting it and ruining it because of calories and numbers and food and something that is vital in order to let me live. and when this occurs to me, it makes me second guess myself. but not long enough to make me stop. and that’s what kills me. to know that i’m wasting my life. my desire to be delicate and fragile is stronger than my willingness to live and be happy. i always think that i want to be happy one day. but then i think about what that means i’ll have to do and then i just get scared and retreat back to what i’ve always been. i hope one day i’ll be strong enough. i really do.